


Step into Christmas (The admission's free)

by merle_p



Category: Pride (2014)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Presents, Cooking, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Holidays, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, POV Female Character, Yuletide, Yuletide Treat, potentially anachronistic Christmas decorations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2601536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merle_p/pseuds/merle_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steph discovers she likes Christmas. Holiday fluff featuring chestnut stuffing, Sian's recipes, mermaids, orthographically correct inappropriate language, Welsh whisky and cameos by Mark, Joe and Mike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Step into Christmas (The admission's free)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suth/gifts).



> Dear Suth, this is a yuletide treat for you, just because you loved "Pride" as much as I did: A generous amount of Christmas fluff, based on your prompt" "What was Christmas like for Steph at Jonathan and Gethin's?" Hope you like!
> 
> The title is a line from Elton John's [Step into Christmas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Fjik78LapA)

"What do people bring to a non-religious gay Christmas dinner?" 

Mark barely looks up from his LGSM posters. "What?" he says, sounding distracted. 

"Jonathan and Gethin's. What do you think I should bring?"

Mark shrugs and keeps colouring letters. This question is clearly not of sufficient political significance for him. "I'm sure they don't care. They didn't tell you to bring anything, did they?" 

"You are not helpful," Steph says reproachfully. 

Mark rolls his eyes. "Well, why don't you just ask them, then? Gethin's in the front, isn't he?"

He goes back to work, and Steph watches him and chews her nails. 

She doesn't want to say that she can't ask Gethin because that would mean admitting that she has no idea what to bring because she's never been invited round for Christmas by _friends_ before, much less grown-up friends with proper jobs and actual relationships. That she's worried that Jonathan never actually told Gethin he invited her; that Jonathan himself might just have said it in the spur of the moment and forgotten about it immediately; that she's going to show up and they'll have other friends over, or worse: they won't even be home at all. 

 

She doesn't even know why she cares that much. It's not like Christmas at home was ever that fantastic of an experience. But maybe it's precisely the promise that this one might not actually be that horrible that makes her go through old cookbooks and women's magazines she usually wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. In a bout of cooking-induced despair, she calls Sian, who manages to make her feel immensely better by telling her basically the same thing Mark said to her, only much more sympathetically, and with a couple of recipes to back it up: "I'm sure they'll appreciate whatever you bring, love."

In the end, she makes a crumble, because it's an easy enough recipe so there is minimal risk of her messing it up. She also knows for certain that both Gethin and Jonathan like sweets, although Gethin has this weird thing about Jonathan and healthy food, which – she doesn't quite know what that's about, since Jonathan seems in perfectly good shape to her, and Gethin's usually not that much of a mother hen. But she figures crumble is mostly fruit anyway, and besides, it's Christmas: If you can't indulge a little on Christmas Day, what good is the whole thing, really?

 

"Merry Christmas," Gethin says, when he opens the door. 

He doesn't seem surprised to see her, so he knew she was coming at least, which is a relief. He does look a little like he might have been crying – although it's a bit hard to say with Gethin, who looks melancholic even when he's in high spirits. Maybe he was just cutting onions. She only hopes she is not intruding on a holiday-induced relationship crisis. 

"Come on in, now, you look like you're freezing," he simply says, holding the door open, and she steps inside and then stands in the hallway awkwardly, holding the crumble dish in gloved fingers, until he takes it from her so she can shed some layers.

"This smells amazing," he says with a smile, lifting the dish to his nose. "I hope Jonathan told you that you didn't need to bring anything." 

As a matter of fact, he didn't – he didn't say much of anything, except that she should come, but she simply shrugs as she takes off her coat. "It's no big deal," she says, smiling back, as if bringing a dessert to a holiday party is really what she does all the time, as if she hadn't spent entire nights agonizing over the decision. Gethin doesn't need to know about that. 

"Go on through, then," he says, handing the crumble back to her and taking her coat and scarf in exchange. "Jonathan is in the kitchen. Been cooking all day." He says it fondly, so even if they'd really been fighting, Steph figures it can't have been too bad. He steers her toward the kitchen, and the smell of chestnuts and parsley hits her with a strength that makes her stomach growl. Breakfast suddenly seems a long time ago. 

Gethin disappears into the flat with her coat, but Jonathan waves at her in welcome with his cooking spoon. There's flour on his shirt, and something that might be a piece of mushroom sticking to his cheek. He looks flushed, and exhausted, and happier than she's seen him since he danced on the tables at the Onllwyn Welfare Hall.

"Stand still," she commands and steps close to pluck the mushroom from his face, then wipes off the residue with the back of her hand. 

He laughs, but obediently waits until she's finished. "Cheers," he says, "although I don't think there's any point in cleaning me up until I'm finished."

He gestures at the kitchen, which is a creative mess of dishes and bowl and ingredients. She looks around with wide eyes. 

"How many people are you expecting?" she asks, and Jonathan grins. 

"Just you," he says. "But having a guest finally gave me an excuse to do both Brussels sprouts and parsnips. Last year Gethin actually vetoed the parsnips, if you can believe it." One of the pots on the stove starts rattling, and he takes off the lid and peaks inside before turning down the heat. "Besides, we like to have enough leftovers so we don't have to leave the house for the next three days."

He look so excited at the prospect of conjoint hibernation that Steph definitely rules out domestic quarrels as the cause of Gethin's gloom. Still, if she's going to be the only dinner guest, she'd rather know what's going on. 

"Is Gethin all right?" she asks quietly, and Jonathan throws her a look, somewhat surprised and slightly alarmed. 

"He looks a bit –" She gestures toward her face helplessly, not knowing how to continue, but Jonathan already nods and smiles, as if he understands just fine.

"Oh, that," he says, laughing quietly. "He's just homesick."

"Homesick," she repeats, confused. 

Jonathan raises his shoulders. "Hefina called round and he picked up the phone. Apparently her Welsh tongue made him long for the rolling hills of Wales."

He smiles at something above her shoulder, and she turns around to find Gethin leaning in the door, looking embarrassed. 

"It's just that the accent sounds so familiar," he says defensively, ducking his head. "Don't get to hear that around London very often."

"Well, why don't you come with when we're heading up this week?" Steph asks. He'd been so adamant about not coming along last time that she'd just assumed he hated it too much. Apparently it's not quite that simple. "The shop is closed for the holidays, isn't it?"

Gethin shakes his head. "Oh no," he starts, "I don't think …", but Jonathan throws his arm around her shoulders and gives her a quick squeeze. 

"That's what I've been telling him all month," he says. "Maybe he'll listen to you."

Steph isn't so sure about that, but she's willing to give it her best. "We could really use someone who knows how to talk to these people, you know, the ones that are still a bit" – she waves her hands – "about us. And all the women have been asking me about Jonathan's mysterious boyfriend." 

She feels more than sees Jonathan look at her from the side with surprise, trying to gauge whether she's telling the truth. She grins at herself. That conversation with Gwen and Gail is not one meant to be shared. 

"And anyway, it's not like anyone you know is going to be there, right?" A thought hits her, and her eyes widen. "You don't know anyone there, right? You aren't from Dulais Valley, are you?" 

She feels a bit hysterical at the thought that she may have been accidentally discussing Gethin's sex life with his grandmother without either of them knowing. 

"No," Gethin shakes his head. "No, I'm from further up North." 

She exhales in relief, and then smiles innocently when he gives her a slightly suspicious look.

"Well, that's settled then," Jonathan grins. "Now run and set up the tree, while my Christmas elf and I finish up in here."

Gethin doesn't seem quite convinced, but he does look thoughtful as he leaves with a long-suffering sigh, and Steph chooses to count that as a success. 

Jonathan seems to think so too, because he wraps his other arm around her as well and hugs her properly before he lets go. "Thank you," he says seriously, and she laughs. 

"Anytime," she says. "Just call round next time you need me to convince Gethin to do what you want him to." Then she realizes what she's said and puts her face in her hands, while Jonathan is silently laughing at her. "Not like that," she says, a bit embarrassed, but she's chuckling as well. 

"Come on," Jonathan says, poking her with his elbow encouragingly. "Lots of work to do. Grab yourself a beer from the fridge, if you want, yeah? And then you can sit down and help me peel these potatoes."

 

Considering that Jonathan promised her a speech- and carol-free Christmas Day, she's almost a bit surprised to find that there is actually a proper tree in the living room, albeit a fairly teensy one. She sets down the Brussels sprouts on the dining table and steps closer to take a closer look at the decorations, laughing out loud when the ornaments all turn out to be glittery mermen in various states of undress. She gently pokes the figure closest to her: [he is wearing nothing but a Santa hat with his sparkling-red tailfin](http://cdn2.bigcommerce.com/n-nr1m3w/ce8rdw/products/411/images/596/DD-55-90803_PU__26048.1396551364.1280.1280.jpg?c=2), and even she has to admire his marvellous abs. This is definitely nothing like Christmas at her mum's. 

"Here," Gethin says, coming to stand next to her. "We got one for you as well." She carefully takes the figure he holds out to her, and recognizes [a delicate mermaid](http://cdn2.bigcommerce.com/n-nr1m3w/ce8rdw/products/460/images/644/DD-55-90783_PU__72440.1396551504.386.386.jpg?c=2) in a silver-blue dress, with long blond hair and a seashell in her hand. 

"I realized that I don't really know what your type is, so I had to improvise," Gethin says, almost nervously. "I hope she's all right."

"She's beautiful," Steph says emphatically, feeling a bit choked up. She spontaneously wraps Gethin in a big hug. He looks a bit shell-shocked, but doesn't resist, and gently pats her back until she is ready to let go. 

"Well, do you want to put her up then?" he asks, sounding embarrassed, but also pleased, and she carefully chooses a good branch for the mermaid, where she'll be able to see her from her seat at the table. 

 

Dinner includes dark ale in heavy glasses, candle light and a lot of satisfied groaning from all sides. Steph gorges on mashed potatoes and mushrooms and cranberry sauce and relishes the fact that no one tells her not to eat too much ("You're a girl, not a hippo," she hears her granny's voice in her mind and defiantly reaches for the stuffing).

They have just started to slow down a little, only picking and nibbling now that they are full, when the phone starts ringing. Gethin and Jonathan look at each other for a moment, then Jonathan gets up to take the call. He's gone for a bit, then he sticks his head round the door. 

"It's Bromley," he says, with a wink. "You want to talk to him, Steph?"

She jumps up a bit too hastily, almost upsetting her pint glass, and rushes past Jonathan down the hallway to pick up the receiver. 

"Bromley!" she says, excited and out of breath. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas," he says, sounding awkward and grateful at once. "I can't talk for long, I'm afraid, I told my mum that I'm calling a friend about school."

"That's quite all right," she says, "I'm glad you called. How are things at home?"

"It's okay," he says. He doesn't sound very excited, but not particularly sad, either. "I wish I could be with you guys, though," he says. "I've never had a vegetarian roast before."

She laughs. "It's lentils, mostly, I think," she says. "Who would have thought that Jonathan was such a good cook?" She pauses. "I told you, though. I could have come with you, if you'd wanted me to." 

She is still a little bit hurt that he did not even seriously consider her proposal – she was mostly joking about it herself, but still, his easy dismissal made her wonder if Joe thought that bringing her along as his beard would be worse than not bringing a girlfriend at all. She is well aware that she is probably not the kind of gal a mother like Joe's would want as a potential daughter-in-law, but that doesn't mean it doesn't rankle.

"God, no," Joe says. He lowers his voice. "I really appreciate the offer, I did, I do, and it would be so much more fun to have you here, but honestly, my sister's husband is kind of a prick. I'm used to it by now, but I wouldn't want to subject any of my friends to that, if it's not a matter of life or death."

She laughs, feeling relieved. Rationally, she had known that it wasn't because Joe was ashamed of her, but it's still nice to hear him say it out loud. 

"Well, I wish you were here, too," she says. "But we'll see each other in two days, right? You are coming along, aren't you?" She speaks more quietly as well. "Gethin might be coming too, this time. We'll convince him before the night is over."

"That's fantastic," he says, sounding like he means it. "Can't wait." He pauses. "I miss you."

"Miss you too, Bromley," she says and hangs up. Then she goes back to eat more stuffing. 

 

Later, they play Scrabble. Jonathan complains, but gives in when he is outvoted – under the condition that they play "Deviant Scrabble," in which only inappropriate words are accepted on the board. 

He starts the game off with by spelling out "randy" across the pink star in the middle, then he goes to heat up the mulled wine in the kitchen. By the time Gethin has occupied the "r" with "tosser" and Steph has proudly spelled "barmpot," causing Gethin to snort with laughter, Jonathan is back with three enormous steaming mugs. 

"Oh my God," Steph says reverently after taking the first sip, "this is amazing." She takes another gulp, and feels daring enough halfway through the second mug to demand a change of rules and suggest that they tell a story with every word they put on the board. 

And this is how she finds out that Gethin once caught Mark shagging a bloke in the backroom of his shop after opening hours; also, that he believes Jeff is, purely objectively speaking, the most beautiful man in London, and that Jonathan finds this hilarious. She hears about the time Jonathan was arrested in drag at Pride 1981 and the young copper, who couldn't even look at him, kept calling him "Miss," and about the six months he spent living with the owner of a leather club in West Berlin in the late 1970s. "You have a thing for business owners," Steph says in amazement, and Gethin can't stop laughing about that one for a very long time. 

In return, she confesses to reading soppy romance novels sometimes, delivers an account of the time she was propositioned while shopping for a vibrator, and then tells the embarrassing story of the last time she tried going out with a boy, just to prove herself that she could – only to find out what he wanted was for her to do him with a strap-on. "He lives with his boyfriend now," she says. "But at least we still talk." She laughs. "Was an important experience for both of us."

By that time, they've run out of letters, and Jonathan declares her the winner of the game: "I knew you'd be a natural at Deviant Scrabble," he says, proudly patting her shoulder. It feels like a significant accomplishment. 

She is fairly pissed by now, and judging from the way Gethin steadies himself against the back of his chair when he gets up, he is too. 

"Where do you think you are going?" Jonathan asks, amused, and Gethin rolls his eyes at him. 

"The kitchen," he says. 

"I hate to tell you," Jonathan says, "but there is no more mulled wine."

Gethin shakes his head. "I don't want more wine, I want crumble."

"Oooh," Jonathan says. "Dessert, of course, how could I forget? Do you think you can manage, or are you going to fall on your face in the hallway?"

Gethin grimaces. "I'm not a city boy, I can hold my liquor," he says indignantly. Jonathan and Steph share a grin when he's gone.

"Jesus, but I'm plastered too," she says, letting her head come to rest against her arms on the table. 

Jonathan smiles. "You can get as drunk as you want. You are not going anywhere tonight."

"What?" she says, straightening. "No, I can get the late train …"

"Don't be daft," he says. "We are not letting you go home by yourself on Christmas. There is a perfectly fine sofa behind you, which is far too short for me, but I think you'll fit very comfortably."

"All right, if you don't mind," she says, not feeling like arguing – the idea of not having to leave the house before tomorrow is much too tempting. 

Besides, Gethin is returning with a heavy tray, and that requires her full attention. He must have not been as drunk as she first thought, because he's not just heated up the crumble, but also managed to whip up a massive bowl of cream that he proceeds to slather all over the apples. He hands out spoons, and they crowd around the table, eating warm, sweet apple crumble from the dish. 

"God bless you, Stephanie," Gethin says seriously, after more than half of the dessert has disappeared, licking his spoon clean with dedication. 

Steph ducks her head and feels herself blush. "It's Sian's recipe, really," she says. 

"Bless her too, then," Gethin nods, then sets the spoon down after some consideration. "I think I'm done," he says, regretfully.

Steph sighs and drops her silverware onto the table top as well. "I'm feeling a bit sick," she admits, holding her aching belly. "I ate way too much."

Jonathan grins. "I know what you need," he says, and returns a moment later with a bottle of Penderyn and two glasses, pouring some for Steph and a glass for Gethin, who accepts it with a content sigh. 

"God, I've missed Welsh whisky," he says, smiling at Jonathan, and Jonathan reaches over to touch the back of his hand, a fleeting gesture. 

Steph leans back in her chair and watches them. Her head is spinning a little and her trousers are too tight, but she feels incredibly relaxed, warm and comfortable. She tilts her head back and sighs deeply. 

"You all right there?" Jonathan asks, and she doesn't even have to think. 

"Best Christmas ever," she announces happily, and adds, when she hears them chuckling: "I'm serious, I swear."

Gethin's answering smile is soft. "Well, I think it was a pretty good one for us as well." 

 

She wakes with the moderate headache she's used to after a night of drinking, but feels surprisingly well rested. The sofa had turned out to be just as comfortable as Jonathan's promised, although by the time they went to bed, she had been so drunk and tired that simply being horizontal felt wonderful. 

It had still taken her a while to fall asleep, as always in a different environment. She had listened to Gethin and Jonathan's muffled voices next door until they died down eventually, making room for silence. The street lamp in front of the house had created a pattern of light and shadow on the living room floor, and in its shine, she could see the little mermaid twinkling at her from the Christmas tree. 

Now there's daylight outside, although the grey sky makes it difficult to tell how late it is. She can hear faint noises from the back of the flat, so it seems that at least Gethin and Jonathan are already up. For a moment, she lets herself snuggle back into the blankets – the duvet forms a warm and heavy cocoon around her body – and closes her eyes once more. 

Eventually, however, she pushes back the blankets and sets her bare feet onto the wooden floor. She doesn't bother getting dressed – the T-shirt Jonathan lent her for the night reaches down to her knees and seems like appropriate attire for the morning of Boxing Day. There is a faint smell in the air that carries the promise of tea in her near future, and she follows the scent to the kitchen. 

She pauses in the doorway to watch Gethin and Jonathan, who are leaning next to each other against the kitchen cabinet. Gethin is tucked against Jonathan's chest, his arms around Jonathan's waist, and Jonathan has an arm slung over Gethin's shoulder, nuzzling his neck. 

Steph thinks this might be the most intimate she's ever seen them with each other. She suddenly feels reluctant to intrude, but Gethin has already spotted her and raises his head, although he doesn't move otherwise. She likes the thought that they are comfortable enough around her to be themselves. 

"Good morning," Jonathan smiles. "Sleep well?"

"Very," she says. "I think I'm taking your sofa home with me, it's more comfortable than my mattress."

"Well, it's yours if you can figure out how to get it on the tube," Gethin says dryly. "There's tea," he adds, pointing his chin toward the kitchen table, where a steaming pot sits next to a cream and sugar set and an empty red mug.

"Ta," she says and helps herself. The tea is dark and thick, and she tops it up generously with cream and sugar, until it is the perfect shade of pale gold. 

"Oh, and don't forget to open your present," Jonathan says. He picks up his own mug from the counter with his unoccupied hand without letting go of Gethin, and blows on it before taking a sip.

"Present?" she asks, confused. There is indeed a small package sitting on the table that she hadn't paid any attention to, but as she's looking more closely, she notices that the label says "Stephanie" in Jonathan's generous cursive. 

"Oh no," she says, dismayed. "I didn't get you anything." 

Gethin laughs. "You weren't supposed to."

Jonathan nods. "You brought dessert. You convinced Gethin to come to Wales with us. And you told us the marvellous story of your adventures at the sex shop on Holloway Road. As far as I am concerned, you've given us lots of presents."

"Besides," Gethin pulls a face. "You might want to look at it first, before you say anything." 

She laughs and picks up the package, running her fingers over the bright red paper for a moment. When she tears the wrapping apart, an orange-and-purple tie-dye T-shirt spills out, clearly handmade. She unfolds it carefully and sees that there is something printed on the front. 

"The 'L' does not stand for London," she reads, and can't help but laugh.

"I love it," she says, meaning it. She hugs the shirt against her chest. "Thank you so much."

"Well," Jonathan says. "We need to make sure that you want to come back next year, right?"

She salutes them with her mug. "Count on it," she says. 

 

"Oh my God," Mark says, around a mouthful of chestnut stuffing. They have been at the bookshop all day, counting money and packing boxes. At some point, Gethin came downstairs in his robe with heavy plates of heated leftovers, his hair wild, a massive hickey blooming on his collarbone. He didn't stay long. 

"And to think that we had Lo Mein and cheap beer for dinner," Mark says, sounding a bit envious. Mike merely hums in agreement and stuffs more parsnips into his mouth. 

"I seem to recall you telling me only last week that Christmas was an evil, capitalist, bourgeois tradition," Steph smirks. 

Mark shakes his head. "There is nothing bourgeois about this stuffing," he declares. "It's downright sinful, is what it is."

"Right." Mike sounds a bit strangled as he watches Mark close his eyes in bliss after wrapping his lips around the fork. "If you and the stuffing are quite done making love, maybe we can go back to the task at hand?"

"Of course," Mark says, taking one more bite before pushing the plate away. "Let's do this." 

The cause beckons, and there is lots of work left to do, but as she stacks ten-pence coins into neat little piles, Steph finds that she is still feeling the holiday spirit. 

Christmas, she decides, is really not so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't know if/I highly doubt that the mermen/mermaid ornaments featuring in this fic were already available in the mid 1980s, but I think they give off an 1980s vibe, so for the sake of the story, I hope you can forgive this minor anachronism.


End file.
